


Not with Haste

by margaerystark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:26:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/margaerystark/pseuds/margaerystark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lady Catelyn visits King Renly's camp to ask for an alliance with her son, she encourages his wife, Margaery, to begin writing to her son. Neither of them could have ever quite predicted what results from this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Please review if you have the time! Thank you so much for reading!

Lady Catelyn comes to them dressed for the winter, her dark blue cloak and skirts billowing behind her in the winds that have picked up from the cape. She wears a scowl as well, a tight line on across her face that mars her beauty. But who can blame her? She has lost her husband and her daughters are held by the Lannisters.

Renly offers her his hospitality and Margaery words of condolence. She seemed to have grown to love Lord Eddard, and it makes the young Tyrell girl wary of learning to care for someone like Lady Catelyn did. She thinks perhaps she is lucky in some respects with her husband. She will never be a mournful creature should some harm befall him, gods forbid.

Catelyn turns to her when Renly refuses to ally with Stannis, pleads that she speak with him and attempt to change his mind. What starts as a simple conversation leads to a discussion of politics and war. By the time they are done talking, there is a mutual respect between the two of them.

The older woman makes to leave, but stops on her way out. “Your husband… you will find a way to persuade him?”

“It was my duty to marry him. My brother… he believed us to be a good match. I will have Loras talk to him.”

Catelyn nods her head in understanding, a knowing look on her face before she begins to duck out of the tent. “Perhaps you might write my son,” she adds as an afterthought, “he could benefit from your expertise.”

“If he is anything like you then it will be no chore for me, my lady,” Margaery replies kindly, though she does not know how she might benefit from writing the eldest Stark son.

That night she is alone. She can hear the rustle of fabric, the deep laughs, the grunts and muffled groans in the next tent over. She loudly picks out a piece of parchment from her desk drawer and swirls her quill in the ink before beginning to scribble furiously.

_Your grace,_

_Your mother suggested we write each other in attempts to gain knowledge about our friends and foes on either side of this vast country. I know not if you have need of my aid, but I have grown up around and studied politics my whole life. I have learned that there are few things more valuable than knowing the person behind the shield, sword, or armor they are bearing. I hope to be discrete should this letter fall into the wrong hands, though I trust my brother’s birds to bring it to you safely._

_I would also like to offer you my sympathies for your loss. Family is the greatest gift we have in this world, and it was unfair of you have your father taken from you so soon. May your family soon get the justice they deserve._

_Sending you my best,_

_Lady Margaery Tyrell_

She reads it over a few times before carefully rolling and binding her parchment, finding the messenger hawk that her elder brother Willas had gifted her with and one of the men who is due to travel North and join the Young Wolf’s cause. “Make sure my bird gets to Robb Stark,” she tells him.

A mere week passes when her hawk returns to her, a new letter tethered to its foot.

_My lady,_

_It was good of you to write me. I do not know what it’s like to be married, but I trust your days and nights are busy. Feel free to impart any knowledge you have on me, and I will try to do the same for you as well. You seem to have a good heart, and I thank you for doing this for me._

_Robb_

She smiles softly at his messy handwriting and the informal use of his name. Immediately she picks up her quill to write him back.

Their writing quickly turns familiar, their titles dropped, their discussions on things other than war. Once they have said all they need to on the Northern and Southern forces, they are free to talk about whatever pleases them. They are both lonely, that much she knows, but it is a great comfort for her to see her bird sitting perched at her tent every few days as she believes the sight is welcoming for him.

She feels as though she knows him and comes to trust him. His stories of his childhood are interwoven with those of his siblings, reminding her of her time in Highgarden with her brothers. She finds herself laughing aloud at some of the things he tells her. She ventures so far as to give him hints of Loras and Renly, hoping he will pick up on what she implies. Their letters grow warmer with each message.

She grins when she sees her bird growing larger round the stomach the next time it returns to her.

_Robb,_

_Try not to feed my hawk so much or she will not be able to let us correspond so quickly! She must love you._

_Today I realized that in all this time I’ve been talking to you I haven’t the slightest inkling as to what you look like. For all I know you could be a seven foot tall war machine, but they say you ride on the back of your wolf so you could be quite small. All I know is that you are around my age, and you look more like your mother than your father? Correct me if I’m wrong. It would be lovely to match a face with your words._

_-_

_Margaery,_

_I must admit to you I’ve been feeding her the scraps left on my plate when I’m done eating. She nearly pecked my fingers to the bone when I didn’t give her any this time around. I hope she returns to me nonetheless when you send your next letter._

_Now you’ve got me wondering… How do I describe myself? I’m neither a brawny or small man. Yes, I do favour my mother’s colouring, but I have a beard. And I don’t ride on my direwolf, but please don’t quelch those rumours. They make me sound all the more ferocious where I’m not. I think myself rather ordinary looking, but perhaps you would say otherwise. I hope we might meet in person someday._

_And you, my dearest lady? It’s hardly fair for me to write a whole letter on myself and not get anything in return._

_I look forward to your reply._

_-_

_My sweet Robb,_

_I chided my hawk something fierce for hurting you, though I’m certain she cannot understand what I’m trying to tell her. Next time you might quell her hunger with only a few morsels off your plate. I would not want you to suffer again._

_Anyone kissed by fire is not ordinary. I shall think of you as handsome, and I hope not to be disappointed when I see your face for the first time, though I’m certain I won’t._

_Why would I write something on myself when I can just show you? I sent my bird with a locket, my picture enclosed inside. My brother had it painted to give to whomever I married, but Renly hardly has use for such a thing. So it is yours now. Throw it in a river if it so pleases you, but at least you will know what I look like._

_-_

_Dearest Margaery,_

_By the gods, if I would have known I was writing such a beautiful lady… well I am uncertain if anything would have changed, but you must have some idea of how lovely you are. The bottom of a river doesn’t deserve to know the likes of you. I’ll keep you around my neck under my clothing, for I feel as if you have brought me much luck and happiness over these weeks we’ve been writing._

_Tomorrow we enter the Westerlands and will eventually storm the Crag. If you do not hear from me for some time it is because of this. Please, keep me in your prayers if you will._

_Thank you for being a light to me in this darkness. You have taught me how to smile again._

_Yours, Robb_

She picks up her quill to reply when a sudden chaos seems to break out in camp, screams and shouts echoing in the night air and shadows dancing outside her tent. She draws a dagger from under her bed, her heart beating as a servant makes himself present.

“My lady, your husband, King Renly…” She knows what he means to say before he says it.

Loras buries him, her brother’s laughter and happiness turned to mourning at his loss. When she inquires on where Lady Catelyn and Brienne are, she finds they have gone North to Riverrun. It is then that her mind is made up.

She leaves her last letter on her desk, open for Loras to find.

_Do not bother to send a search party after me. In your grief you most likely cannot see a future ahead, but our only hope for winning this war lies in the North. I beg of you to pull yourself together and come join me, or go back to Highgarden and tell father that the Young Wolf could use the Reach’s forces._

_I love you, Loras. You must never forget. But I have listened to your advice on this war before, and now I believe I have a right to choose a new path for us. King Robb needs me, and I him. Surely that is something you can understand._

_Margaery_

She kicks the flanks of her horses and takes off, her grey cloak whipping out behind her. Her hawk circles overhead, leading her North. She lets the wind carry her to Robb as if she had wings of her own to fly.


	2. Thanks

He wakes to the pattering rain outside and the sound of thunder. His eyes open, blinking several times as a face swims into view, a woman with long, brown hair. She has a sweet smile and he thinks he has seen her before, but he cannot place where.

“You’re even more handsome than I imagined you to be. I am far from disappointed.” Her voice is soothing, her words familiar as well.

“Margaery,” he breathes, a smile of his own growing on his lips. He can feel her fingers brushing at his cheek, gentle and comforting. He must be dreaming. Dead or dreaming.

“Yes, my king. I traveled here for you, and it’s a good thing I did. You were hit by an arrow,” she explains to him, her hand moving to his arm. He takes in a sharp breath, his pain becoming apparent. “I’m sorry, Robb.” She frowns slightly. “I have to clean and dress your wound. The last time I did this you were asleep, though I’m glad you’ve finally opened your eyes. I was worried. Now I might be able to get some rest at last.”

“Why are you here?” he asks. Surely this must be a dream. But the sting of his injury was very real.

“Renly is dead, Robb. I sent my brother back to call our men to your aid. I came for you alone because I knew my father would have sent his troops elsewhere. Me being here gives him no choice,” she tells him, unraveling the bandages she picks up from his bedside table. He does not even know where he is. Vaguely the name ‘Crag’ enters his mind, but it’s gone as soon as Margaery reaches for his arm again.

He lets out a yell, causing his friend to frown more. She takes his good hand in her own, giving it a tight squeeze. “I’m going to give you some poppy milk and let you rest more.”

Almost as soon as she brings a cup up to his lips and its contents run down the back of his throat, he is drifting off again.

The second time he wakes, his vision obscured by the sleeping form of someone beside him, her back facing him.

He has half a mind to reach out and touch her, but he is less drowsy this time around, and his clear mind does not wish to wake her. All he knows is that Margaery is truly there next to him.

Someone else stirs in a chair near his bed as she realizes he is awake, a girl with hair the same colour as straw, her skirts stained brown. She gives him a smile when she sees he has noticed her. “I’m Aela, your grace,” she informs him. “I was Jeyne Westerling’s handmaiden, but I suppose I work for you now. The woman beside you asked me to take care of you as she rested. She refused to leave your side.”

“I see,” he says simply, trying to hide his smile as he subtly glances over at Margaery.

“Who is she, your grace? Your betrothed? Your lover?” The girl’s nose wrinkles slightly in distaste as she stares at the woman in his bed. Still, her questions seem nothing but polite despite her obvious disproval.

“She’s my… Margaery,” he answers weakly, grateful as Aela notices his discomfort and lifts his head to help him take a drink from the flagon beside his bed.

“She must mean a great deal to you if you’re so willing to wear her around your neck all of the time,” she notes, nodding to the locket resting on his chest. “But you should try to heal and get better before the two of you do anything, your grace.”

“No, no. She is my friend, my confidante,” he corrects, shaking his head slightly as he realizes what Aela is implying.

“I’m good at keeping secrets, your grace. You don’t have to worry,” Aela returns, giving a small smile. He is glad when she changes the subject. “Your men are all doing quite well, except for a certain few. There’s a man down the hall who hasn’t woken up yet… Theon, I believe I heard my lady calling him.”

“Gods,” he groans, resting his head back against the pillows. Upon Margaery’s advice in her letters, he had kept Theon with him and not sent him back to the Iron Islands to be with his father. He hopes that decision will not cost the other man his life.

“I’m sorry, your grace,” Aela apologizes. “I shouldn’t be bringing you bad news in this state of yours. “Get some sleep. I’m sure you’ll be anxious to wake again knowing you have a beautiful lady waiting for you.”

He can scarcely believe he still has sleep left in him, but when he closes his eyes his dreams overtake him once more.

Margaery is gone the next time he stirs, but he finds that he is ready to move about. His arm is not completely healed yet, but he decides he is done with sleeping. Aela helps him stand from his spot and he opens the window to get some fresh air, the rain having stopped. He sees his friend as well as his direwolf, surprised at how well Grey Wind seems to take to her, and immediately he makes for the stairs of the castle.

Outside, Margaery turns around when she hears him come through the doors. He walks towards her, watching as her mouth falls ajar slightly before the corners of her lips turn up in a wide smile. She lifts her skirts, the bottoms of them caked with mud, and she runs for him, her long hair flying out behind her, tousled in the wind. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more beautiful sight.

She reaches him and wraps her arms around him carefully, and his head drops to rest against the top of hers as his closes his eyes. He swings his good arm about her small waist and lifts her into the air, spinning the both of them in a circle as she lets out a laugh in delight.

“You have strength enough to sweep a lady off her feet,” she remarks, pulling back to look at him as he sets her down. “I’m sorry I was not there when you woke. I thought Grey Wind was tired of being cooped up.”

“The last thing you should be doing is apologizing,” he insists, smiling at her through his pain. “You came all this way on your own, and a serving girl has told me you’ve been caring for me. I owe you so much, Margaery.”

Her face flushes red, but she does not drop his gaze. “You’re looking awfully slim, sweet Robb,” she notes, reaching for the hand on his uninjured arm and threading their fingers together. “Let us go inside and get you something to eat.”

She is patient with him when he drops his fork several times, when he winces as it still hurts to lift his arm. She just picks it up for him and hands it to him again, watching him take several successful bites and then telling him to rest. She reaches for his fork and begins to feed him, careful not to let any of his food fall.

He feels heat creeping at his cheeks when she looks at him the way she does. There is something unspoken in the way they interact, however, as the both of them know of his betrothal to one of Walder Frey’s daughters. He can see her inch away from him sometimes, trying to keep a distance between them. He supposes that is just as well.

They make plans to leave for Riverrun once his arm is good enough for him to ride a horse again and his men are fully recovered, including Theon, who had been improving under the watchful eye of the young Westerling girl. Margaery sends a raven to Highgarden, informing them that their services will be needed in the Riverlands as soon as possible.

The night before they’re meant to leave, she makes to leave his chambers, and he gives a gentle tug on her sleeve. He doesn’t have to say a word for her to know what he means. She laughs softly, the sound like a song, and settles into bed beside him. He pulls her into his chest, and all the while she is smiling, her eyes always dancing over his face as if he is the only person in the world she can see. She snuggles against him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles lazily into her hair, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“For what?” she asks just as quietly. He never answers.

He does not think it a sin to fall asleep with Margaery Tyrell in his arms, not when this is all they’ll ever do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feedback if you have the time! I would really appreciate it. Thank you for reading!


	3. Mad

When Catelyn sees her son for the first time in months, he is not alone. He heads a group of people on his horse. Behind him she recognizes Theon Greyjoy with a bandaged middle, looking somewhat pained until the party comes to a stop. But then her eyes go to another familiar face that she is not expecting, and she feels her mouth fall open slightly.

Robb steps down from his horse and immediately moves to help Margaery dismount hers, his hands going to her small waist as she clutches his shoulders, what can only be described as adoration shining in her eyes. She stays close to him as he lets go, or perhaps he’s the one that stays close to her, their arms bumping as they walk in time.

Catelyn steps forward to hug him, hoping the shock does not register on her face. He kisses her forehead and pulls away, beaming, and she thinks she has not seen him so happy since he was in Winterfell.

“Mother, this is Lady Margaery…” he starts before giving a small laugh and amending his statement, “but of course you already know that. You were the one who suggested we correspond in the first place.”

The young woman steps forward, her smile matching Robb’s as she gives a small curtsy. “It is good to see you again, my lady. After the death of my husband I decided to travel north as well, to aid my new king.”

It is difficult to believe they are in the midst of war when observing her son and his companion, Robb giving her a look of fondness and her sneaking a subtle glance at him as her cheeks flush red.

Catelyn is worried.

“It is good to see you as well,” she lies, offering a nod of her head. “Why don’t we go inside and get something to eat?”

Robb nods his head and she watches as he places his hand on the small of Margaery’s back, guiding her towards the castle as she grins up at him.

Their supper is relatively normal, save for the few instances in which the eldest Stark and the youngest Tyrell lean over to whisper in each other’s ear or quickly brush their fingers over the other’s hand or forget their food entirely to have a conversation. Robb misses his carrot with his fork four times as he holds Margaery’s gaze, but neither of them seem to notice or care.

She watches as they bid each other a goodnight, her son pressing a kiss to Margaery’s temple before they break away, thankfully moving in separate directions. She stops the girl before she can go anywhere else.

“May I have a word, my lady?” she asks, and Margaery complies with a nod.

They step into a smaller, private hall, its candles almost burnt out, its windows lending no light to them now that the sun has gone down. “Why did you not return home to Highgarden when Lord Renly died?” she asks, not bothering with casual conversation. “Surely your family must be missing you.”

“I sent my brother Loras back to gather troops for King Robb, my lady. My father has no other choice but to direct them here because I am here as well.”

Catelyn thinks it a bold but clever move. Still, she does not find that all of the girl’s true intentions have been brought to light. “And what do you make of my son?”

“He has the purest and kindest of hearts. He inspires loyalty in his men, and they win for him. He’s an excellent, capable fighter, and he does not give up,” she replies, and Catelyn can hear her voice shaking as she adds, “I love him.”

“My lady,” she murmurs as a warning.

“Do not worry,” Margaery tells her resolutely. “He will have the armies of the Reach at his disposal. He will win this war and go home. He will marry his Frey, and I will go back to Highgarden where my father will find me a suitable match.”

“Margaery…” Her tone is gentler this time.

The younger woman shakes her head. “I just want him alive and safe.” A sad smile appears on her face as a few tears escape her eyes. “That’s all that matters.” She turns and leaves the room without another word.

The day Ser Loras arrives with the troops from the Reach, the heavens seem to be crying, rain pouring from the grey clouds over their heads. Still, there is a smile on Lady Margaery’s face as she rides out to greet her brother and the seemingly infinite amount of people he brings with him.

“The armies of the Reach and the Stormlands at your disposal, my lady,” Loras speaks in a serious tone, his eyes seeming to flash as bright as the lightning in the sky. “They pledge to be loyal to the late King Renly’s wife as you were good to them and your husband during his short reign.”

Catelyn sees tears form in Margaery’s eyes despite the rain, but her grin only grows as she addresses the men that have come to aid her. “You are under King Robb’s command now!” she shouts, her voice imposing more attention than the thunder. “He was to be my husband’s ally before he was taken. We will fight for him and avenge his father’s cruel and unnecessary death, and we will take King’s Landing from the incest king that does not deserve to sit on the Iron Throne!”

There’s a deafening roar at her words, the men holding their swords and fists up as they cheer, but all Catelyn can see is Robb’s eyes on the woman who had brought him so much fortune in the past few months, his gaze filled with love.

They dry off inside the castle that barely has room to accommodate the men that came with Loras, and it is then that Robb takes her aside, his expression far more stern than the one he was wearing before.

“I am not sure what to do about the Frey family anymore,” he tells her, his gaze on the floor.

“What do you mean?” she questions, her brow furrowing.

“Lady Margaery has helped me more than all of the Freys combined. She’s told me so many valuable things, she cared for me at the Crag when I was injured, she brought me all of these men, and she has done it all without asking for a single thing in return. I think I owe her much more than I owe any other person. I think… she loves me.”

Catelyn can feel her heart pang against her chest, and she closes her eyes briefly, wishing this was nothing more than a dream. “Do you think I cannot see, Robb?” she returns, looking at her son and shaking her head. “Even if she does love you, all you can do is be grateful. You are still betrothed to Walder Frey’s daughter, and a promise won’t be broken no matter if you have all the armies of the Reach and the Stormlands on your side. We cannot fight two wars at once.”

“I know,” he nearly growls, his brow furrowing. She thinks he might be on the verge of tears, but he will fight before he sheds anymore in front of her. He’s a king now, not the boy who cried for the loss of his father in her arms. “When this war is over-”

“When this war is over, you will go home, and Lord Frey will send us your future wife.”

She can see the anger in his eyes as he looks at her. She shouldn’t have commanded him. It was not her place. But Lord Walder Frey is dangerous, and his fury will always outweigh Robb’s. She will not lose him to something as simple as him wanting to marry Lady Margaery. He still has time to learn to love another, just as she did.


	4. Promise

“Why does everyone expect me to marry her, Margaery?” The question is stupid, he knows. Her head is rested on his shoulder as they look outside, the rain pouring down from the heavens as it has been for the past few days.

“Because you made a promise, sweet Robb.” Her voice is warm as is her body. He slips an arm around her waist, bringing her closer.

“That was a promise my mother made _for_ me.”

“Don’t be resentful towards her. She was only trying to do what was best for you,” she says softly, running a hand along his chest. “Marriage is a small price to pay in the long run, for armies and lands and safety. Love is worth nothing compared to those things.”

“Do you really believe that?” His voice breaks as he looks down at her. “Besides that, you gave me everything I needed without me making a single promise. “

She returns his gaze. “Because you are my friend, Robb. And I care deeply for you. I want you alive.”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. “Why can’t we have both? Why can’t we have love and all the rest?” he asks eventually.

“Who knows? You might come to love the Frey girl. It’s very possible.”

He shakes his head. “No, Margaery. It’s not. I already love someone else.”

He watches the colour drain from her face as she withdraws from him, pulling back and beginning to shake.

“No, no. I’m sorry,” he says quickly, catching her waist before she can run any further. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again. “I know I wasn’t supposed to say anything, but I couldn’t… I love you so much, and I don’t know what to do.”

“I love you with everything in me,” she replies, her eyes flooding with tears.

He leans in to kiss her, to make the sadness go away, and she gives a small, muffled sound against his lips, making him want her more. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he slides his around her waist, hugging her so tightly to him that her back arches against his touch. Her tongue slips between his lips and she rocks her hips towards his, making him hard. He groans into her mouth and she responds in kind, their bodies shifting against each other clumsily.

_“Margaery_ ,” he breathes, his hands moving upwards to cup her breasts. She places her own hands over top of his, but then her lips leave his and she steps back, tears forming in her eyes once more.

“I’m sorry.” It’s her turn to say it, her face flushed red and her lips swollen as she looks up at him, running her fingers over his. “I want you to live, Robb, and if the Freys were to… We can’t do this. “

He opens his mouth to say something, but he isn’t sure what. There’s nothing he _can_ say.

“I’m going back to Highgarden. It was selfish of me to stay here longer than you needed me,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “Promise me you’ll marry your Frey. Promise me you’ll do anything you can to stay alive. I couldn’t bear the thought of you dead. It would hurt so much more than this…”

He nods his head, still not saying anything. He hopes the gesture is enough for her to understand that he will listen.

She breaks from him, turning her back and walking away. He can see her shoulders start to shake with tears before she even leaves the room.

He doesn’t go after her because he knows she’s right. He made a promise to her, and it’s one he intends to keep.

 


End file.
